


Roughhousing

by neongoodies



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, rodimus is Shook, softdom drift
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 06:04:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10915833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neongoodies/pseuds/neongoodies
Summary: When sparring takes the obvious, messy turn.





	Roughhousing

Rodimus wasn’t quite so humble as to admit he didn’t have an underlying reason for training with Drift. Sure, he loved the guy’s company - weird meditative stuff Rodimus didn’t always understand be damned - but honestly he was just  _ hot _ . When Drift had offered to help him spar, Rodimus’ mind had instantly taken him on quite the journey, filled with a fun amount of fantasies involving Drift, Rodimus’ spike, and Drift’s gorgeous thighs around his waist. 

And, okay, yeah, the training was a plus. It wasn’t like he  _ sucked _ at hand-to-hand or was bad with a weapon but sometimes Drift wasn’t always there to bail him out of a dicey situation by stabbing a dude before the same could happen to Rodimus. That weirdly did happen a lot these days. 

The training floor had always been the go to up until they’d started their  _ Private Lessons _ . It wasn’t appropriate at all probably - or at least, Rodimus was pretty sure Magnus would bust a fucking gasket in his dome if he discovered most lessons usually ended with the two tangled up together after a well earned frag session. 

“So sparring in your quarters,” he drawled as he helped Drift drag aside a table to give them more a wider expanse. “You thinking what I’m thinking, Drift?”

“ _ I’m _ thinking of releasing frustrations through kicking your aft in a controlled environment,” Drift quipped without missing a beat. He gave him a pointed look. “I’m kind of in a bad mood.”

“Oh,  _ psh _ . Boring!” Rodimus let the table hit the ground a little more abruptly than anticipated, watching Drift grimace in sympathy for the object before he decided to go ahead and offer an apologetic and charming smile. “If you wanted to just spar, we could do it in the training room.” He paused. “Also what makes you think you’re actually going to kick my aft?”

Giving him only an assessing, pointed look, Drift didn’t offer any reply as he went ahead and walked over to stand in the center of the room. He beckoned him over and, warily, Rodimus complied. “So traditionally, private sparring begins with a handshake or a bow,” Drift explained. “Something to symbolize no hard feelings and to assure you’re only training with a companion.”

“Mhm.” 

Rodimus took the hand Drift offered. Even with just a firm, companionable grasp, it still had some level of intimacy there. Promises to kick his aft or not, Drift seemed incapable of truly getting rough with him.

“So,” he said once their hands dropped, “let me have it.”

He was completely and fully not anticipating for Drift to actually  _ let him have it _ . 

Drift came after him so fast that Rodimus’ mind almost didn’t make the connection until he was instinctively blocking the first hit that  _ surely _ would have dented his face. 

“Hey!” 

He threw a punch. Drift blocked, missed the following, and grappled Rodimus’ arm in a twist that left Rodimus relying on going for an elbow under his chin and into his shoulder in some hope to alleviate the growing tension and put some distance there.

Drift glared at him, head tilted away thanks to the elbow beneath his chin. “Get your guard up, Rodimus!”

Rodimus boggled. “It  _ is _ up! Obviously!” 

Well, it wasn’t down, apparently. Drift kneed him straight in the gut which served as a fine distraction for the hit that would knock his optical feed out of alignment for a few seconds. Rodimus reeled as his vision realigned itself. 

“Okay, not cool,” he said and rubbed at the dent on his stomach. “Fragger.”

“Guard up,” Drift repeated as Rodimus hunched over himself.

Rodimus looked up to watch Drift prowl around him like he was some sort of predator. 

The following action he took wasn’t exactly like,  _ professionally trained _ . Tackling him was a low blow, but Drift definitely wasn’t expecting it. That was a plus. The startled yelp Drift loosed as Rodimus threw himself into him and tackled him to the ground was even better.

“Rodimus!” 

“Guard up, babe,” he taunted, and got a palm right to the chin. Drift twisted beneath him and somehow managed to free a leg and hook it around his neck, dragging him down with a sharp roll of his body.

And, wow, ok, Drift was actually just a little terrifying. Rodimus never really  _ doubted _ his skill, but Primus, he wasn’t expecting  to have to use  _ this _ much stowed away close-quarters knowledge just to keep himself with his head above the proverbial water here. 

His back collided to the ground with a scrape of metal. Instinct had him ignoring that singe of pain blossoming straight in the center of his spoiler. Rodimus lifted an arm, half expecting a blow or a strike to the jaw or neck. 

Instead of either, a hand curled around his wrist and pinned it up against the side of his head, against the floor in a tight press. Rodimus blinked a few times when nothing else followed. He only had long enough to see that crooked little grin of Drift’s before Drift was kissing him. It was forceful and sudden enough that the startled sound it got out of Rodimus was muffled against his lips.

Training suddenly got a lot more fun, Rodimus decided. He tilted his hips into the hand wandering over his waist as Drift’s fingers plucked and traced at the biolighting that lined his sides.

Some little niggling part of him left him wanting to move his arm but Drift’s grip was firm and pretty unrelenting. Just a subtle attempt at lifting it earned it a forceful slam back into floor. Rodimus hissed. Drift ignored him entirely, choosing to break away from his lips to press a smattering of kisses along his jaw and down to his intake. 

This certainly was  _ new _ . Usually Rodimus was the one to initiate stuff -  _ usually _ . There were some more adventurous moments with Drift (usually involving a little liquid courage in the form of engex and a night off) that would end with some of that tender interfacing. It was fun - interfacing with Drift always  _ was _ \- but getting thrown to the floor and having a tongue jammed into his mouth was a new experience entirely. It made heat shoot straight down his backstrut and towards his array. 

Rodimus jumped and moaned (a little showily) as Drift scraped teeth along his neck’s wiring. He was obviously being careful but the sting and pressure had Rodimus’ array stirring online in seconds. 

Drift tipped his head back up for another kiss, one Rodimus was all too happy to provide. He reached out with his free hand, a compulsive need to just  _ touch _ Drift leaving his fingertips itching with thrumming charge.He scraped them along Drift’s chest and down his abdomen until he was rubbing little circles against his panel. 

Drift’s ventilations were warm against his mouth and chin. Drift somehow managed to press up just a little closer, filling that last little increment of space between their frames until Rodimus felt completely trapped between him and the ground he was pinned to. His hand was finally freed only for Drift to grasp at his neck.

Drift was watching him. There was heat and longing and expectation in his optics, all blazing cobalt beneath shimmering glass. Rodimus felt his entire body tingle. He was already warm, array flared to life thanks to that particular throw, but Drift watching him like this - like he could do anything right down to kicking his ass to making him wet - sent his mind and spark reeling in excitement. 

_ This _ was new. 

It was exciting. 

Rodimus tipped his head into the barely-there caress of Drift’s hand on his face. “What’re you waiting for, huh?” he muttered, and nipped at the thumb resting against the corner of his lips. “Want me to moan pretty for you?”

Drift’s thumb brushed over his lips. Rodimus kissed it out of habit mostly, but lingered, tongue flicking out across the digit before wrapping his lips around it. And Drift  _ grinned _ at that, pushing his finger just a little further in, pressing it along the flat of his tongue as it curled and licked over every seam and joint.

His mind blanked. That possessive grip around his neck and the look Drift was giving him were enough to make him start parting his legs eagerly in anticipation, but having to suck at his thumb when faced with no other part to touch left Rodimus moaning lowly.

“Looks like you didn’t really need much convincing anyways,” Drift drawled and dragged his thumb from between Rodimus’ lips. “You probably want something else in your mouth, though, right, Rodimus?”

His optics dimmed reflexively as Drift dragged his index finger to his parted lips. 

“Go on.”

He did, scraping his teeth across the tip of his finger and then his tongue followed. He went with the motions he’d go for with a spike, a slow, teasing drag along the length of Drift’s finger before sucking it into his mouth.

Drift hummed softly, a little content noise as he angled his hand slightly, letting his finger hook up along the upper ridge of his mouth. Rodmus’ tongue followed, teasing along the joint of a knuckle, gaze focusing past his hand to see the pleased smirk Drift wore. 

He rocked his hips against Drift’s. It was hard to get any leverage with his arms folded up behind his back, but he managed, pressing his feet hard into the ground to try and get  _ some _ sort of angle that’d let him get his valve to press against Drift’s pelvic span. Without the use of a mouth to voice his frustrations, Rodimus groaned, turning beseeching optics up to meet Drift’s in what he was quite certain was a look he’d mastered as disgustingly cute and fraggable. 

It got some sort of reaction out of Drift; he tilted his head at him and lifted his brows expectantly before slowly dragging his finger out from Rodimus’ mouth. “You want something?”

Rodimus lifted his hips impatiently. Drift lowered his hand and, before Rodimus could get too excited, grabbed him by the hip, pushing him right back down into the ground. 

He clenched his teeth and complied. 

“Drift-”

Whatever he wanted to say - whatever he planned on  _ complaining _ about - was cut short by the following kiss. It was wet, sloppy, too hard as Drift jerked his head by his chin to guide him into it. Their teeth bumped, Drift  _ bit _ him, and Rodimus decided he’d be embarrassed by the whimper that followed later. 

Rodimus tried to follow. His tongue lathed over Drift’s just a second before Drift left him once more, kissing at his swollen lips, his chin, jaw, and down until he was pressing up against him even closer to bury his face into his neck.

“Ah, frag,” he whispered, rocking his hips the best he could into the textured edges of Drift’s still covered crotch. Drift licked at his neck and nipped at the wires. He was ruthless in his assault against the spot that never failed to make Rodimus squirm, nosing just under his jaw and licking warmth up against the cluster of threaded wiring. 

He managed to hook a leg over one of the backs of Drift’s. Drift bucked and,  _ yes _ , Rodimus thought, tipping his head back a little further, exposing his neck as he felt the sweet grind against his throbbing node.

Drift’s hand fell to his hip, scrabbling, still wet with his oral lubricant as he curled his fingers into the joint along his side and pushed him roughly into the floor, stilling his movements. Rodimus whined and bucked.

“Stop squirming, Roddy.”

“Drift,” he panted, “What are you even  _ doing _ ? Just - Would you just  _ frag _ me already?”

Drift  _ bit _ him. The shock of it was worse than the actual pain, but Rodimus still yelped regardless. He went still in an instant, feeling that threat of teeth puncturing the delicate tubing of his intake. 

And Primus, his spike panel’s cover snapped right open, the scrape of metal cycling open way too audible past his wanton panting and Drift’s heavy ventilations. 

“Really?” deadpanned Drift.

Rodimus pressed his lips together in a thin line, trying his best to ignore how warm his face had suddenly become. “I…Yeah.”

Drift pulled up and knelt between his legs. He immediately shoved Rodimus right back down when he tried to push himself up. 

Drift trailed a finger up along his valve, bottom to top, ignoring his node to instead spread a streak of lubricant along the underside of his spike. Sensitive and eager as he was, Rodimus was left hissing through his teeth as he lifted his hips up into the touch.

“I really do feel like I shouldn’t be surprised here, you know.” Drift cupped his spike against his abdomen and held it there in the cradle of his palm. Rodimus loosed a thin, broken moan as Drift’s thumb circled the tip and the underside sensory node resting at the head. “But you’re always so full of surprises, Roddy.”

Rodimus was inclined to agree; this  _ was _ definitely a surprise.

Drift continued to rub tiny little circles along the head of his spike. Rodimus rolled his hips into the touch, voice cracking on a seizing intake as he tried desperately to get just a little more friction there. 

Drift’s laugh was barely a whisper. 

“How badly do you want me right now?”

His fingers twitched beneath his back.

“Bad.”

“Yeah?” Drift squeezed his spike, working up another bead of pre-fluid from the tip. It stuck to his armor, slid in a chilling slide into a seam Rodimus would worry about later. Drift smiled at him like he  _ wasn’t _ torturing him. “Roll over.”

Rodimus paused. 

He looked at Drift, who met his gaze with some unwavering, unreadable expression.

“Do you want me to do it for you?” asked Drift. “Because I might not be so kind if I do.”

Rodimus almost was a little tempted to test that. But that ache settling deep within his valve, the same sort of ache that left his spike throbbing heavily against his belly, had him complying, desperate for  _ something -  _ preferably Drift’s spike or even his mouth or fingers. 

Something was telling him Drift had a mean streak in him. No, Rodimus  _ knew _ he did. Meditations and prayers or not, someone didn't just get labeled as one of the most infamous criminals in autobot history without some reason behind it.

He shivered because of that. His traitorous spike even swelled up and started dripping all over some fleeting image of Drift grinning at him with that ‘con emblem emblazoned on his chest. Rodimus  _ wanted _ that to be a reality. Just a fleeting hour dedicated to Drift -  _ Deadlock _ \- destroying his valve until Rodimus was left crying.

_ Right. I'm screwy,  _ he decided, not really as shocked as he was sort of disappointed. He could almost picture the disgust or outrage on Optimus or Magnus’ faces if they knew Rodimus got wet over power fantasies involving Drift and his scandalous past as a  _ decepticon. _

He gathered his knees closer to himself and shifted his weight until he was on hands and knees. The only real awareness he had of Drift behind him was the hand roaming idly along the back of his thigh and up his flank. The same hand trailed higher along his lower back, fingers dancing along each section of his spine like he could’ve been counting them, and just as Rodimus began to look over his shoulder, Drift pushed. 

He staggered, grunting. His upper body hit the floor chest first and then his head. His lower half would’ve too if not for Drift’s denting grip on his hip. 

“Comfortable?”

Rodimus shifted. His cheek scrubbed the floor.

The answer was ‘no’. Hands and knees could only work so well with his build; his legs just weren’t really  _ meant _ for this kind of position. 

In his silence, Rodimus found himself listening to the soft chime of metal on metal as Drift’s hand worked its way back down his back. He tipped his aft up a little in a suggestion he hoped Drift would take. 

And take he did. Rodimus shuddered as Drift kicked open his knees a little further and spread open his valve with a thumb to expose the slick interior to the chill of the air and his prodding fingers. Digits swept over and along delicate meshing and across his node. 

“Mm, Drift,” he whispered, arching his back just a little more. “Come on…”

No reply. 

Two fingers pushed deep inside. The abruptness of it had Rodimus grunting and moaning loudly as his body pushed back. Drift immediately pushed his hips right back forward, ignoring how they swayed or how Rodimus’ thighs began to shake as he slowly worked his fingers within his valve. 

“What got you going anyways? Getting your aft handed to you or me shoving your face into the ground?”

“God, I don’t know,” he whispered raggedly. 

Drift added another finger. They all rubbed at the wrong wall. He was  _ purposefully _ ignoring all the sensors and nodes Rodimus would need to overload. The realization had him whimpering. What made it worse was not knowing why he didn’t just go ahead and defy Drift’s wishes. His hands were right there after all. 

Drift leaned over him, all encompassing, comforting heat, his field curling -  _ smothering _ \- his with the strangest mix of possessiveness and affection as his fingers stroked and pressed within the clenching walls of his valve. He pressed down just enough that Rodimus couldn’t move, couldn’t get  _ more _ friction. 

Lips teased over along his finial to ghost across his audio receptor. “You’re so wet, Roddy,” Drift breathed, his ventilations tickling and warm. He nosed along his audial. Rodimus moaned, parting his legs just a little wider as his stance began to falter. It opened him up a little more to the teasing thrusts of Drift’s fingers before they slipped out to pluck and stroke along his aching node.

Rodimus shuddered and sighed into the floor. “Please…” 

He could feel Drift smile against the side of his head. “Please what? It’s kind of unlike you to be so quiet, isn’t it?” 

That burn in his node began to spread to a sensation he was familiar with. The direct contact left little for his body to try and grasp at, rapidly reaching the point that’d let him crash straight into overload. 

Then Drift had the nerve to  _ stop _ . 

“Drift,” he croaked, “You’ve gotta be fragging kidding me.”

Drift chuckled. “Remember what I said about your patience?” He pulled up, pulling Rodimus’ aft right up against his hips. His fingers teased and stroked along his thighs, wet and sticky with Rodimus’ lubricant. 

Rodimus managed a tiny grin. “That I don’t have any?”

He could almost picture Drift rolling his eyes. “That it’s a virtue.” 

Rodimus jumped when he felt Drift’s spike nudge up along his valve. Excitement won over confusion and lust trumped both. His hand slipped between his legs and curled around his spike, giving it a few messy tugs before his entire body went tense at the first slide of Drift’s spike bottoming out in his valve. 

Pleasure trickled down his backstrut and pooled, hot and heady along his array. His spark churned wildly in its chamber. 

“Mm,” he groaned, rubbing his cheek into the floor. His hand stroked slowly at his spike. “You feel so good, babe.” 

Drift hummed a quiet acknowledging note before his arm was curling around his waist and his hand joined Rodimus’. “Flattery will get you just about anything, won’t it?” he murmured, and pinched the tip of his spike. 

It didn’t  _ hurt _ , but the shock of it had Rodimus jumping with a startled noise. It left him pushing back to get away from that touch, which effectively had him pushing Drift even deeper into him. He exhaled a shuddering ventilation and whimpered through tightly pressed lips. 

Drift rocked into him. Rodimus’ intake hiccuped as his valve clenched down. 

It wasn’t nearly enough. Drift was purposefully keeping the contact as shallow as possible, driving pleasure into a simmering burn that made Rodimus hyper-aware of each agonizing pulse of his valve, and every trickle of lubricant down his thighs. 

His thighs wobbled beneath him as he squeezed his spike, trying to milk  _ some _ worthwhile pleasure out of this. He couldn’t  _ do _ slow right now. Drift got him so keyed up that the very idea of waiting left him wanting to cry. 

Drift’s fingers continued to work the tip of his spike as Rodimus hand circled the base. He mouthed at the side of his head, earning another embarrassing whimper from Rodimus’ vocalizer. “You’re desperate for my spike, aren’t you, Roddy?” 

Another pinch. Another thrust. Rodimus choked out as his forehead thunked on the floor. “Oh my god -  _ Drift _ …” 

He heard and felt Drift’s laughter. That hand on his spike disappeared to pull open his thighs a little wider. The next thrust was harder and the next that followed struck right up against his ceiling node. 

Yeah, he thought with static lining his vision, this position was definitely worth it. It didn’t matter that he did sort of want to see Drift’s face. That was for later, when Drift wasn’t currently pressing him into the ground. Later, he decided as he panted into the ground as each following thrust pounded right against his ceiling node, sending him higher and higher, closer to the sweet embrace of a well-earned overload. 

Rodimus tried to angle and rock back into it but Drift’s weight kept him mostly pinned. All he could do was sloppily reach back, hoping to grab onto a hand or  _ something _ . When his fingers did brush over Drift’s, Drift pulled away. 

For some reason, that did hurt a little. Was he  _ mad _ at him? Did it even fragging matter right now? Clearly he wasn’t mad enough to not stick it in him - but still…

Drift’s grip turned bruising when it landed on the back of a spoiler and gripped the edge. Rodimus had to arch back into it, lessen the growing pressure until his hand had to leave his spike and press against the ground for leverage. The hand that  _ wasn’t _ threatening to tear off his spoiler grabbed him by the waist and pulled him into the hard rock of his hips. 

Rodimus tipped his head back and grit his teeth. Static danced behind shut optics. Surely there was charge building now, likely dancing between his seams and at the corners of his eyes as all his attention zeroed past the dull ache in his back and to every resultant thrust against his ceiling node. 

Pleasure stripped him the ability to even say anything about it. He had  _ tons _ of praise to give in that moment but all that came out with a shuddery gasp and some pitiful sounding whimper as his overload pulsed through him. 

Drift’s thrusts slowed and his grip lessened. 

And while Rodimus wasn’t keen on having him pull out so soon, his frame protested every inkling of even thinking about moving. Rodimus patted at the floor blindly to keep his balance before tipping forward and straight onto his face and chest, shuddering breaths hitting the ground and his cheek as he willed his ventilations to slow. 

Drift palmed over his aft and grabbed his hip. “Roll over.”

He did, though his movements were sluggish. Rolling over onto his back without kicking Drift in the head was kind of a task but Drift seemed more inclined to do the moving for him, grabbing him by the thigh and hiking it up against his chest once his back was to the floor. 

Drift’s spike slid easily inside once more. Calipers clutched at it, still fluttering from the remnants of one damn fine overload. Rodimus sighed and gasped as Drift’s thumb found his node.

The kiss that followed was weirdly unexpected. 

It wasn’t like they didn’t kiss all the time, but to be kissed now after getting his aft dented and face pushed into the ground was a touch startling. Not that Rodimus would complain, of course; he was all too happy to curl his arms around Drift’s neck and part his lips for the tongue that licked inside and curled around his. 

He hummed happily into it, sighing contentedly when Drift pulled away to kiss along his jaw and down his neck. His touch bordered on pampering even as his spike worked in and out of his valve. 

Lubricant continued to well around it and drip down his aft. Rodimus wasn’t sure if he’d ever managed to get  _ that _ wet before, but it was a thought for another time. He was all too happy to bask in the possessive grip around him and the consuming heat that came with Drift curled completely over him.

Selfish pleasure apparently began to win over Drift’s initial attempts at sort-of-lovemaking. His hips rocked against Rodimus’, Rodimus’ own angled just right to have Drift’s spike nudging perfectly back against his ceiling node. 

“You’re gonna make me come again,” he panted, wincing when Drift’s answer was to bite his neck. “Primus, yeah, Drift…”

Drift was close. He could tell from the noises he made. He might’ve been a relatively quiet lover (quite possibly the quietest of any of Rodimus’ past excursions with bedmates), but Drift could make the best noises when finally letting loose.

Every growl and moan had Rodimus mumbling some slurred, babbling encouragement as he parted his thighs a little wider and savored each forceful rock of their hips that left his fingers curling into claws at Drift’s shoulders. 

Drift was practically  _ pounding _ him at this point. If his aft and thighs didn’t have paint transfers at this point he’d actually be kind of disappointed. 

Drift’s overload came with a startled sounding gasp and a shuddery moan into his neck. Rodimus wasn’t even sure if he felt the rush of transluid, distracted by his own overload and how desperate he felt to curl into Drift. His arms and legs wrapped around him and face pushed into the side of his head as he cried out.

Time ticked by almost painfully slow then. Rodimus gradually loosened his grip. Drift followed suit, pulling out with a little tug of both their hips. 

Rodimus stared up at the ceiling. 

Wow. 

His hips hurt like hell and his valve was going to be tender for days to come, but  _ wow _ . 

He petted his fingers sluggishly along the back of Drift’s neck. Drift, who seemed like he was still trying to recover, just nuzzled his neck and offered one of the cables a sloppy kiss. Rodimus smiled. 

“Damn,” he said at last, and Drift finally lifted his head to look down at him. Rodimus met his gaze. “You  _ really _ let me have it.”

Drift’s mostly neutral expression faltered somewhat. Like guilt, maybe? Rodimus hurriedly soothed it away with hands cupping his face and legs tightening around his waist. 

“Chill out. I liked it.” He looked down at himself, at the transfluid splattered across his stomach and chassis. “Heh. Obviously.”

Drift looked unconvinced because of course he’d feel  _ weird _ after thoroughly wrecking Rodimus’ aft. “I got kind of rough there…” he pointed out, voice soft and nearing tentativeness. 

“Yeah, so? I’ve been told I could use a good aft kicking  _ and _ a lesson in obedience and you gave me  _ both _ .” And again, Drift looked like he didn’t believe him. So he dragged Drift down for another kiss, chuckling. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

The tension in Drift’s frame eased to almost nothing after a few sporadic kisses here and there. When he finally pulled away again, this time to join Rodimus’ side on the floor, he at least had a smile on. “You liked that then?”

Rodimus rolled over and scooted closer until they were chest to chest again, tangling one of his legs around Drift’s to keep him from getting any ideas on escape. 

“Loved it,” he said, “Did you  _ see _ how I totally overloaded with my spike and you didn’t even  _ touch  _ the thing? You’ve got the touch, babe.”

Drift flushed. “Thanks.” 

He wriggled closer to fill that last remaining increment of space between them, nuzzling Drift. “Mmn, you know, I wouldn’t mind if more sparring sessions ended up like this.” He stroked his hand up and down Drift’s flank. “This is the most relaxed I’ve been in weeks.”

Drift bumped their noses together in an affectionate nuzzle. “Whatever you want, hot shot.”  
  


**Author's Note:**

> have you ever just said 'fuck it' to writing the actual sparring and wrote 4k worth of fucking bc i did


End file.
